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“Dan?” John questioned.
The albino man bowed his head. “John.”
“Why not that way?” I asked.
“Dozen guards headed here from the square. We—”
His voice ended on a croak as Sir Guy of Gisborne and his duo of soldiers abruptly appeared at the end of the road. They marched at a fast pace, but when Guy noticed the three of us standing at the end of the street, he stilled.
“Fuck,” John cursed.
Guy’s hand went to the handle of his sword.
“Run!” I screamed.
We spun to head east rather than south. We wouldn’t make it to the carriage or the town square. At this point, with the entire city engulfed in madness, I wondered if we could escape through a different route and reconnect with the Merry Men outside the city.
We had to try. It was the only chance of getting out of this godforsaken hellhole.
But first, we had to escape Sir Guy of fucking Gisborne.
Chapter 30
Robin
Guy of Gisborne was no longer stalking like a single-minded menace. He was running after us. Sprinting.
My whole body ached as I churned my arms and legs. I could only imagine how Little John felt. Besides the obvious wounds he’d taken, he probably hadn’t physically exercised in months.
Yet he outpaced me with his longer strides. He slowed himself to make sure I could keep up. Dan the Dove was close behind us, panting and glancing back over his shoulder.
“Toward the market!” John yelled, two paces ahead of me. “Come on, Robin!”
I wailed and looked back while dashing through the dizzying town. Why the hell would we go toward the market when that’s where the soldiers are?!
A minute later, I understood. Swells of peasants and merchants started to fill the streets we ran down. A cart there, a horse-drawn carriage here, a fruit merchant with a wagon. We bobbed and weaved through it all, creating obstacles for Sir Guy as he and his soldiers chased us.
When we turned a corner, Guy was nowhere to be seen behind us, but four more guards had joined the chase.
My heart stuttered, fear clawing up my spine as I wondered where he’d gone.
Then I saw a shadow to my right as an alley blurred by, noticing he was trying a different route to catch us.
He clearly knew Nottingham’s streets better than we did, yet we ran like our lives depended on it. The blood coursing through our veins gave us a final burst of energy the Sheriff’s right-hand man had trouble competing with.
Once Guy streamed out from the mouth of the alley, he wasn’t any closer to us than he had been before. His guards were right behind him and he growled and yelled at them for not being faster.
Armor did that to a man—weighed them down—and our lighter tunics and clothes were the only things working for us.
I ditched my cloak and hood so my legs wouldn’t get caught in it, and to create another obstacle as I tossed it into the air and watched it fluttering down overhead as I passed under it.
A minor obstacle, of course, mostly done to shed weight.
John was limp-running, his huge muscles tightening as he gritted his teeth and bellowed from exhaustion.
We passed another merchant and curved around him— John bowled over his small wagon instead of running past it, sending it skittering to the ground. Fruits and vegetables and woodchips exploded into the air, and the puller of the cart cursed at us as we ran.
A peasant didn’t see us coming and got right in my way, and he earned a flying shoulder into his spine and went tumbling forward.
